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CALIFORNIAN   SONNETS  AND   POEMS 


Calif  ornian  Sonnets 

and  Poems 


By      , 
MILTON  S.  STEWART 


NEW  YORK 

JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 
1920 


COPYRIGHTED  1919  BY 
JAMES  T.  WHITE  &  CO. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

KALI  YUGA ii 

CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS,  PART  i 23 

NOT  FOR  ME  25 

I  COULD  NOT  REACH   26 

HELPLESS  ARE  WORDS   27 

0  ARTEMIS  !    28 

OH,  LOSE  HER  NOT  29 

BECAUSE  You  LOVED   30 

CAN  THESE  EYES  CHANGE  ?   31 

RELIEVE  ME,  GODS  !    32 

Bow  DOWN  TO  THIS   33 

IT  Is  FOR  LOVE  34 

THESE  ARE  THE  WAYS  35 

1  Do  NOT  SEEK  You  Now  36 

ALL  LIVES  ARE  PITIFUL 37 

IF  You  COULD  LOVE  ME  WELL  38 

I  CANNOT  YIELD  39 

I  STROVE  TO  SAY  40 

I  DID  NOT  HOPE  41 

MY  LIFE  MAY  BE  No  LESS  42 

THIS  WEB  OF  VERSES 43 

CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS,  PART  2: 

OVER  THE  BROOK  45 

OH,  COMFORT  ME  !   46 

IF  ARTEMIS  SHOULD  COME  47 

WILT  THOU  WITHHOLD?   48 

OH,    COME    49 


WITHIN  SOME  ISLE   50 

IN  THE  DEEP  MIDNIGHT 51 

THOU  WHOM  I  CANNOT  SEE 52 

DESCEND  !    53 

COULD  I  CREATE  THEE  54 

SHE  LIVES  FOREVER 55 

SOME  PICTURE  DIM   56 

WE  DRIFTED    57 

THE    SKY    58 

THE  MOON'S  PALE  LIGHT  59 

0  IVORY  FEET  !   60 

1  DREAMED    61 

I  LOOKED  FOR  HER   62 

I  PAUSED 63 

I  CLIMBED  THE  STAIR 64 

AMONG  THE  ROSES   65 

THE   SYCAMORES    66 

CALIFORNIA^  SONNETS,  PART  3: 

NOT  SHE   67 

SHE   ROBBED    68 

0  THOU  IN  WHOM   69 

THE   LIGHTNING    70 

THE  BITTER  OCEAN   71 

1  ASKED 72 

To   SAVE    73 

MY  HEART'S  COMPANION   74 

DISMEMBERED    75 

THE  ROSES  MOCK  76 

As  I  REVOLVED  THESE  WRONGS 77 


FAILURE    •  •  •  •  78 

ANTARYAMIN    79 

OM!     8o 

SEA  SONNETS  OF  SANTA  BARBARA 81 

MEDITERRANEAN    SONNETS    87 

ON  SICILY   89 

SONNET  ON  THE  NILE  No.  i   9« 

SONNET  ON  THE  NILE  No.  2  9i 

THE  PHCENICIAN  COAST  92 

To  DAPHNE,  MY  SISTER  93 

ON  LEAVING  GREECE  94 

OTHER    POEMS    95 

SPRING  HAS  AWAKENED  97 

To  A  GREEK  STATUE  ON  AN  ANTIQUE  TOMB.  .  98 

SAPPHIC  STANZAS   J02 

FRAGMENT    IO3 

TYRANNUS    OMNIPOTENS    104 

PAPYRUS  LEAF  IQ6 

EPIGRAMS   IQ8 

VERSES    IO9 

To  ROBERT  BUCHANAN no 

VERSES    II2 

APOTHEOSIS  OF  THE  FOOTBALL  114 

COMMENTARY    IJ8 

WATCHER  OF  SUNSETS  121 

To  CELIA  THAXTER   122 

IN    SICKNESS    I23 

THE  SILENT  TEARS 124 


SPEAK     125 

MORNING    !26 

EVENING     127 

THE  DAY'S  EXHAUSTION 128 


KALI  YUGA 


KALI  YUGA 


VISIONS  OF  THE  BLACK  AGE 


PLUNGED  in  tremendous  midnight,  I  lay  bound 
In  dungeon  darkness,  far  from  wholesome  morn, 
Until  at  length  the  heavy  chains  unwound, 
My  sleep  was  stirred,  and  through  the  Gates  of  Horn 
The  pale  presentment  of  a  dream  was  born. 
It  was  a  thing  of  nightmare  that  drew  near. 
Big  with  some  shapeless  evil  and   forlorn ; 
The  midnight  trembled  into  waves  of  fear; 
Then  blasts  of  chill  and  frightful  breath  were  blown. 
And  round  my  sleep  the  spell  of  phantasy  was  thrown. 


II 


I  dreamed  an  evil  dream  that  I  was  lost 
And  wandered  on  in  darkness  and  alone, 

Until  it  seemed  as  if  my  pathway  crossed 
A  wide  and  sterile  field,  wherein  had  grown 
No  other  seed  but  clotted  heaps  of  stone. 

Those  wretched  lumps  were  monstrous  and  alive, 
Instinct  with  trouble  they  could  not  make  known  ; 

It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see  them  strive 

In  that  dumb  agony,  for  all  were  red- 
Each  crawled  upon  the  ground,  and  as  it  moved  it  bled. 


12 


Then,  as  it  seemed,  a  mist  of  horror  rose, 
Surrounding  me  by  slow   degrees  with  dread 

That  coiled  its  way  into  my  heart  and  froze; 
The  air  turned  into  poison  overhead 
And  weighed  me  down  as  with  a  hand  of  lead; 

All  insects  withered  up  that  dared  to  fly — 
The  very  birds  were  shrivelled  and  fell  dead — 

A  yellow  sickness  festered  in  the  sky 

And  ate  the  solar  orb  into  a  square, 
While  dire  contagion  spread  and  scattered  everywhere. 


Then  on  my  eyes  a  sudden  darkness  fell, 
And  standing  in  that  stony  field  and  bare, 
Amid  the  glooms  of  that  benighted  Hell 
I  heard  confused  and  raving  voices  swear 
In  maledictions  of  infernal  prayer; 
And  all  cried  out,  but  there  was  one  that  spoke 

With  unctuous  platitudes  and  phrases   fair; 
I  heard  that  sanctimonious  voice  invoke 
A  triple  imprecation  on  mankind — 
A  curse  of  ruin,  guilt  and  infamy  combined. 


Then  woeful  tales  and  prophecies  were  told 
Of  how  the  human  race  was  stricken  blind, 

The  earth  decayed  and  overgrown  with  mold 
Because  the  sun  of  reason  had  declined, 
While  o'er  the  fallen  ramparts  of  the  mind 

The  shrouded  specter  of  damnation  walked 
With  feet  that  left  a  burning  track  behind; 

And  then  I  heard  no  more  of  those  that  mocked, 

But  flames  burst  forth,  and  faces  seem  to  glare 
Out  from  red  torture-halls  of  madness  and  despair. 


I  stood  beside  a  vast  and  open  pit, 

A  charnel  crater  full  of  deadly  air, 
And  saw  upon  the  hither  edge  of  it 

Steps  leading  down  into  that  hateful  lair. 

I  deemed  that  hardly  any  man  would  dare 
Even  in  his  most  frantic  dreams  and  wild 

To  venture  willingly  upon  the  stair, 
Or  in  that  sink  of  foulness  be  denied; 
Yet  even  now,  as  if  in  my  despite, 
The  shadow  of  a  man  came  slowly  into  sight. 


16 


This  man  in  vanity  and  pride  descended 

From  stage  to  stage  of  that  remorseless  flight, 

Unknowing  where  the  fatal  path  portended, 
For  in  his  hand  was  an  extinguished  light, 
A  smoking  lamp  that  seemed  to  scatter  blight 

And  poured  black  rays  of  solid  darkness  out. 
So  he  went  down  to  the  devouring  night, 

And  its  thick  folds  encompassed  him  about; 

But  presently  he  fell  into  a  snare — 
His  groping  hands  touched  mire,  dead  slime  and  human 
hair. 


8 


Deep  in  the  desperate  center  of  the  land 
Death  throve  and  reigned  upon  a  rotting  chair: 

He  touched  the  victim  with  a  fleshless  hand, 
And  named  himself  the  purchaser  and  heir 
Of  this  man's  body  that  was  standing  there. 

He  claimed  and  seized  his  flesh  as  lawful  prey, 
Unrolling  deeds  of  parchment  which  declare 

The  man  was  duly  sold  and  sworn  away, 

And  these  he  read  aloud  to  legalize 
And  mask  iniquity  with  pretext  and  disguise. 


18 


Oaths,  seals  and  signatures  applied  to  each, 

And  each  was  witnessed  and  confimed  by  lies. 
One  was  a  cunning  artifice  of  speech, 

A  legal  formula  that  did  devise 

The  man's  whole  head  away,  with  both  its  eyes; 
It  made  a  forfeiture  of  all  his  breath, 

Reserving  it  as  an  especial  prize 
To  be  corrupted  and  consumed  by  Death. 
One  sentence  broke  his  bones,  and  did  not  spare 
To  price  and  portion  each  with  an  explicit  care. 


10 


Then  loathsome  arms  reached  upward  from  the  mud, 
And  multitudes  of  clutching  hands  prepare 

To  strangle  him  beneath  that  sea  of  blood; 
I  heard  him  cry,  and  saw  his  dreadful  stare, 
And  then  he  vanished  in  a  crimson  flare. 

But  next  a  woman  with  a  starry  crown 

Was  standing  in  his  place,  and  seemed  to  tear 

In  haggard  rage  the  bosom  of  her  gown; 

Her  roving  glance  was  eyeless  and  insane 
As  with  shrill  voice  she  laughed  because  the  man  was 
slain. 


20 


II 


She  yelled  aloud,  and  shook  her  swollen  fist, 

And  by  her  were  a  dagger  and  a  chain ; 
Around  her  head  a  brood  of  serpents  hissed, 

And  stung  her  forehead  with  a  purple  stain; 

Those  writhing  snakes  were  rooted  in  her  brain, 
And  lashed  the  whiteness  of  her  cheeks  like  whips — 

A  wreath  of  fire  that  bound  her  brows  with  pain; 
And  there  was  foam  of  frenzy  on  her  lips; 
But  when  she  stabbed  herself  I  seemed  to  know 
That  millions  were  struck  down  and  murdered  by  the 
blow. 


21 


12 


The  wheels  of  Destiny  began  to  grind, 

And  giant  winds  commenced  to  rise  and  blow ; 
I  heard  the  mainspring  of  the  world  unwind, 
Tall  mountains  shook,  and  melted  down  like  snow; 
Red  rivers,  spouting  in  the  plains  below, 
Filled  up  the  sea ;  wave,  earth  and  sky  confounded, 

Roared  on  in  vast  and  awful  overthrow; 
But  I,  with  havoc  and  dismay  surrounded, 
Was  snatched  by  whirlwinds  shrieking  past  in  strife 
From  death  to  death,  from  dream  to  dream,  from  life 
to  life. 

1917- 


22 


CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS 


CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS 


PART  I 


NOT  FOR  ME 


NOT  for  me  will  she  wear  her  bridal  veil, 
Nor  shall  the  sweetness  of  her  love  be  mine. 

The  tendrils  of  her  heart  will  never  twine 
Intimate  round  me,  but  could  I  prevail, 
Love's  mighty  effluence  would  never  fail, 

But  glance  seek  glance  like  blindness  seeking  light, 

And  meet  in  swift  communion,  through  the  sight 
Flashing  assurances.    There  was  a  tale 
Of  such  a  love  as  this  once  told  to  me — 

Half-credulous  by  hopes  that  rose  in  vain ; 
And  therein  everything  as  it  might  be 

Was  told  aright,  yet  I  was  not  to  gain 
The  constant  kindness  of  her  smile  and  speech, 
Her  hand  to  cherish,  and  her  heart  to  reach. 


I  COULD  NOT  REACH 


I  COULD  not  reach  her,  could  not  make  her  see 
How  fair  a  place  for  her  my  heart  possessed, 

How  half  herself  in  me  was  manifest; 
I  could  not  touch  her,  though  she  seemed  to  be 
Near  and  familiar  as  myself  to  me. 

There  was  some  thwarting  veil  of  things  unseen, 

Some  blinding  darkness  coming  in  between 
Her  and  my  love's  strong  importunity. 
Oh,  to  rise  up  in  confidence  and  slay 

This  evil  thing — to  cut  this  darkness  through 
With  flashing  words  like  swords — to  clear  the  way 

From  heart  to  heart!  but  so  I  cannot  do 
Lest  she  turn  further -from  me,  causing  more 
And  blinder  darkness  than  there  was  before. 


26 


HELPLESS  ARE  WORDS 


WORDS  are  but  helpless,   impotent  to  clear 
The  mists  that  so  obscure  me  to  her  sight, 

And  wholly  helpless  are  these  words  I  write, 
Who  have  no  voice  to  make  the  Muses  hear, 
No  skillful  sorcery  to  draw  them  near, 

Nor  power  at  all  to  curb  their  liberty. 

Yet  all  desires  are  gathered  up  in  me 
To  one  ambition.     How  can  I  not  fear 
To  fail  in  that!     What  wonder  if  I  cling 

To  that  one  object,  when,  were  it  displaced, 
My  life  would  seem  a  poor  and  shrunken  thing? 

But  other  lives  go  constantly  to  waste. 
Why  not  mine  also?     Evil  eateth  soon 
Even  the  argent  circle  of  the  moon. 


27 


O  ARTEMIS! 


A  GAIN,  O  Artemis,  in  circle  bright 
-£*•    Thy  heart  of  silver  in  the  sky  appears, 
And  I  again  look  upward  to  the  light 

That  shineth  sweetly  as  in  former  years. 
I  sacrificed  upon  the  hills  tonight, 

And  lit  the  fire,  and  offered  thee  a  prayer, 

And  laid   fresh  flowers  upon  the  altar  there, 
Performing  faithfully  the  ancient  rite. 
Remember,  Goddess,  that  symbolic  fire, 

The  meaning  of  the  flowers,  and  let  thine  aid 
Fulfill  my  wish!     Thou  knowest  my  desire 

And  how  I  saw  thee  in  a  mortal  maid. 
Oh,  grant  my  asking!     Yield  her  heart  to  me! 
But  yet,  in  giving,  turn  it  not  from  thee! 


28 


OH,  LOSE  HER  NOT 


OH,  never  lose  her,  Artemis,  but  rise 
Daily  within  her!     Stand  beside  the  ways, 

Waiting  with  silver  feet  and  crescent  rays 
And  shining  shield  before  her!     In  her  eyes 
Pour  from  thy  flowing  fountain  that  supplies 

Light  to  pure  hearts,  thy  dignity !     Dispense 

Over  and  through  her  thy  calm  influence! 
Let  her  be  perfect  in  all  ways,  and  wise! 
But  more  than  all  things  else  may  she  remain 
Untouched,  unblemished,  by  the  sordid  stain 
Of  selfish  motives!     Nay,  if  she  be  strong 

Only  in  this  one  thing  alone,  if  she 
Love  all  things  beautiful  and  do  no  wrong, 

True  to  thy  light,  it  is  enough  for  me. 


BECAUSE  YOU  LOVED 


BECAUSE  you  loved  all  lovely  things  and  true 
And  seemed  to  serve  them,  doing  them  no  wrong, 

Not  seeking  to  possess,  but  to  belong 
And  wait  upon  them,  I,  who  loved  them  too, 
Saw  them  abiding,  visible  in  you. 

So  when  I  touched  you,  as  with  magic  rods 

Magicians  touch  an  image,  as  the  gods, 
Gifted  Pandora,  and  as  lovers  do. 
I  crowned  you  with  all  goodliness  and  grace, 

Clothed  you  in  delicate  imaginings, 
As  if  with  light,  and  looking  in  your  face 

Found  intimations  there  of  hidden  things. 
It  will  be  sad  if  this  illusion  dies, 
And  lets  me  look  on  you  with  other  eyes. 


CAN  THESE  EYES  CHANGE? 


CAN  these  eyes  ever  change,  and  on  some  day 
Pass  you  in  disregard?     Perhaps  I  dream, 

And  love  not  what  you  are,  but  what  you  seem. 
If  I  know  but  your  shadow,  can  I  say 
Whether  I  know  yourself  in  any  way? 

Perhaps  if  you  stood  clear  as  Truth,  instead 

Of  veiled  in  fancies — all  ungarmented 
By  my  illusions — I  would  feel  dismay. 
Yet  no ;  with  doubts  like  these  I  am  but  wound 

Tn  blind  confusion;  and  if  aught  be  true, 

I  know  that  I  have  known  some  part  of  you. 
That  part  pierced  through  me  like  the  sudden  sound 
Of  far-off  music,  and  I  long  to  see 
Who  that  musician  is.     Can  you  be  he? 


RELIEVE  ME,  GODS! 


"J3ELIEVE  me,  gods!     Some  better  thing  unwind 
AV     Before  me!     Let  some  lighter  task  be   found, 

Than  constant  turning  o'er  and  grinding  round 
In  hollow  circles  of  the  weary  mind 
These  hard  dry  pebbles  of  my  thought!     Unbind 

This  tangle  of  confusion  that  doth  press 

Upon  my  heart  with  so  much  heaviness, 
Choking  it  up  with  grief,  for  I  can  find 
No  recourse,  exit,  or  alternative 

To  this  strong  hunger  of  the  heart,  except 
The  very  love  it  seeks!     How  can  I  live, 

Who  never  cared  for  common  things,  but  kept 
Only  one  hope  in  life  that  promisd  real 
Attainment  of  some  tangible  ideal! 


BOW  DOWN  TO  THIS 


BOW  down  before  this  madness;  nor  disdain 
To  hear  me  speak,  for  be  assured  that  none 
Will  ever  prostrate  thus  as  I  have  done, 
Only  to  you.     Not  always  to  obtain 
Are  offerings  like  this ;  nor  soon  again 

Will  you  find  ardent  love  so  finely  wrought, 
So   delicately  tempered  with  chaste   thought, 
Aesthetic  impulse,  and  the  inward  reign 
Of  abstract  verities.     Were  you  aware 
How  seldom  men  love  so,  in  reverence, 
Free  from  all  brutal  evil  that  prevents, 
And  wrongs  and  injures  love,  you  could  not  bear 
To  let  this  pass.    Why  can  you  not  awake, 
And  love  me  utterly  for  Love's  own  sake? 


33 


IT  IS  FOR  LOVE 


IT  is  for  love's  own  sake  that  I  outpour 
This  great  libation  of  the  heart,  no  less 
Than  for  the  finding  of  my  happiness. 
And  though  perhaps  this  widely  open  door, 
If  you  still  enter  not,  may  close  once  more, 
And  grow  impersonal,  yet  than  can  be 

Only  when  something  withers  up  in  me, 
And  that  lies  empty  which  was  full  before. 
Meanwhile  I  wander  in  a  dream,  and  meet 

At  every  turn  some  trifle  that  uprears 
Your  sudden  image — things  wherein  a  fleet 

And  vivid  likeness  of  you  disappears ; 
The  garment  worn  by  strangers  on  the  street — 
A  look — a  gesture — startles  me  to  tears. 


34 


THESE  ARE  THE  WAYS 


THESE  are  the  ways  she  used  to  wander  through, 
Seeing  the  evening  sky,  while  I  saw  her; 
I  walked  beside  her  here,  and  only  knew 

How  altogether  sweet  the  moments  were. 
These  are  the  places  where  our  friendship  grew ; 

This  is  the  garden  where  she  gathered  flowers, 

And  here  the  hammock,  where  through  quiet  hours 
I  swung  her  slowly  as  I  loved  to  do ; 

For  it  was  happiness  to  have  her  near, 
Whether  in  silence  or  in  converse  true; 

This  is  the  music  she  was  glad  to  hear; 
These  are  the  books  she  loved  and  listened  to. 
I  cannot  understand  how  she  could  go, 
And  leave  me  loaded  down  with  darkness  so. 


I  DO  NOT  SEEK  YOU  NOW 


I  DO  not  seek  you  now,  as  when  the  fire 
Of  glad  amazement  first  within  me  grew; 

I  am  uncertain  what  I  seek  in  you, 
What  truth  lies  hid  in  this  obscure  desire. 
Yet  I  am  ever  restless,  and  aspire 

To  some  abstract  and  unimagined  thing 

Beyond  the  power  of  mortal  visioning. 
You  are  my  symbol  of  that  lost  empire, 
And  so  I  reach  through  you  to  unseen  light, 

And  seek  your  love  still,  hoping  it  possess 
The  precious  tincture  of  poetic  sight, 

And  some  rare  inward  core  of  perfectness 
That  would  not  suffer  from  the  curse  primeval 
By  which  all  outward  things  are  pierced   with  evil. 


ALL  LIVES  ARE  PITIFUL 


ALL  lives  are  pitiful  when  seen  aright 
In  naked  poverty  and  impotence, 

Bound   in  the  narrow  coils  of   circumstance, 
And  cheated  by  the  law  that  sucks  delight 
From  all  finalities,   and  spreads  the  blight 

Of  barren  imperfection   far  and  wide — 

Forever  thwarted  and  unsatisfied, 
And  ever  helpless  to  redeem  their  plight. 
I  with  all  others  turn  this  wheel  around, 

Yet  search   for  something  lost  and  half-forgot. 
May  you  seek  freedom  also,  but  if  bound 

To  common  aims  an'd  ways,  then  heed  me  not, 
For  I  would  lead  you  to  unusual  streams, 
Endless  and  deep,  where  beauty  flows  and  gleams. 


37 


IF  YOU  COULD  LOVE  ME  WELL 


IF  you  could  love  me  well,  yet  wrongly  choose 
Some  lesser  thing,   Time  will  not  re-create 

Lost  opportunity,  and  so  excuse 
The  error  of  your  choice,  or  compensate 
Your  future  years,  unless  another  wooes 

Your  heart  to  sacrifice,  with  love  as  great, 

As  strange  and  tender  and  more  fortunate 
Than  this  fair  gift  of  mine  that  you  refuse. 
Is  love  not  in  you?     Surely  it  is  there, 

And  even  if  no  sign  of  it  appears, 
Sometime — perhaps    when   you    are    least   aware — 

It  shall  come  rushing  out  of  you  in  tears. 
Be  not  deceived  by  things  that  do  you  wrong, 
For  paltry  aims  will  not  content  you  long. 


I  CANNOT  YIELD 


I  CANNOT  yield,  or  make  my  will  consent 
To  this  necessity  that  robs  me  so ; 

I  cannot  yet  resign  myself  to  know 
The  utter  loss  of  Love's  abandonment; 
For  if  he  breaks  the  bow  of  my  intent, 

What  wastes  of  living  must  I  wander  through- 

What  days  of  dullness  must  I  waken  to! — 
When  all  seems  aimless  if  it  be  not  blent 
With  him  for  motive.    Will  he  not  compel 

Himself  to  save  himself?     And  need  I  fear 
That  he  can  leave  me  if  I  love  him  well? 

Oh,  I  will  call  to  him,  and  hope  to  hear 
The  flute  of  Krishna,  like  an  echo  fleet, 
Or  some  spent  arrow  falling  at  my  feet. 


3Q 


I  STROVE  TO  SAY 


WHEN  with  imperfect  words   I   strove  to   say 
How  exquisite  a  gift  I  sought  from  you, 

I  did  not  ask  unfairly,  since  I  knew 
I  asked  no  more  than  I  could  well  repay, 
Having  no  selfish  impulse  to  betray 

Your  utmost  tenderness,  or  put  to  shame 

Love's  purity  of  attribute  and  aim, 
Or  wrong  his  gentleness  in  any  way. 
I  loved  you  outwardly  because  you  wear 

A  garment  of  sweet  youth  and  maidenhood, 

And  inwardly,  because  you  understood, 
And  loved  all  truth  and  beauty ;  yet  I  swear 
That  these  are  but  sustained  and  justified 
By   some  more  noble  quality  beside. 


I  DID  NOT  HOPE 


I  DID  not  hope  that  even  Love  could  be 
Complete    fulfillment,   but   that  you   might   share 

My  restless  search,  my  passion  and  despair; 
That  I  might  turn  to  you,  and  daily  see 
The  light  come  in  your  eyes  for  love  of  me, 

And  daily  take  you  by  the  hand,  to  fare 

On  eager  search  for  breaths  of  purer  air, 
And  fading  glimpses  of  divinity. 
Oh,  might  we  both  be  children,  and  explore 

All  lovely  things!   and  I  would  crown  your  hair 
With  wildflowers  such  as  Proserpina  wore. 

And  listen  to  you  while  your  lips  declare 

Low-spoken  oracles  beyond  compare, 
For  me  to  treasure  up  and  ponder  o'er. 


MY  LIFE  MAY  BE  NO  LESS 


TJERHAPS   my  life   may  be  no   less   complete 
•*•       If    from   afar   I   see   Love's   golden   wing 

Beating  the  azure  air  and  vanishing; 
Or  if  I  sometimes  only  chance  to  meet 
With  fading  footprints  of  his  shining  feet, 

At  which  I  stop  to  tremble,  and  to  sigh 

With  useless  passion  at  the  empty  sky, 
Feeling   my   heart    suffused    with    impulse    sweet 

Of  longing  and  despair.     For  there  would  be 
A  greater  disappointment  and  defeat 

If   Love  half  gave,  and  half  withheld   from   me 
The  boundless  sympathy  that  I  entreat. 
How  could  I  love  him  truly  if  he  came 
With  scanty  gifts,  unfaithful  to  his  name? 


42 


THIS  WEB  OF  VERSES 


FROM   this  small  web  of  verses   slowly  spun, 
And    from   the    days   of   careful    labor    spent 
In   shaping  shapeless  thought  to  permanent 
Poetic  forms,  and  measured  words  that  run 
In  smoothly-flowing  music,  I  have  won 
Some  half-glad  hours  of  solace  and  relief; 
And   some   small   pleasure   fashioned   out  of   grief 
Rewards,  perhaps,  the  work  that  I  have  done. 
I  ask  no  more  than  this,  if  it  be  true 

That  nothing  more  complete  is  ever  found; 
And  for  yourself   I  give  these  thoughts   that  grew 

On  mountain  tops  by  moonlight,  to  repeat 
And  echo  through  your  life-time  with  a  sound 
Heart-piercing  and  mysteriously   sweet. 


43 


CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS 


PART  2 


OVER  THE  BROOK 


OVER  the  brook  great  sycamores   outspread 
Their   massive   arms   in   arches   that   uphold 

A  roof  of  fading  green,  that  turns  to  gold 
Of  autumn  leaves  all  withered  up  and  dead, 
That   loosely   hang,   and   drop    from   overhead, 

And  waver  downward  one  by  one,  to  rest 

Upon  the  flowing  stream,  or  in  some  nest 
Between  the  stones  that  fill  the  canyon  bed. 
These  waters  murmur  of  no  recompense 

For   wasting  beauty,   nor   for  my  own   youth, 
That  rusis  away  unused.     The  aching  sense 

Of  unfulfillment  stuns  me,  and  in  truth 
I  feel  myself  a  very  child,  that  stands 
With    bruised    heart    and    blindly-reaching    hands. 


45 


OH,  COMFORT  ME! 


OH,   comfort   me    from   this   divine   unrest, 
And  slack  the  tension  of  the  knotted  heart! 

Give  me  sweet  peace  and  silence,  and  impart 
Some  quiet  end  of  this  eternal  quest! 
Carry  me  back  to  find  my  earliest 

And  most  loved  goddess  in  some  lonely  spot ! 

O  Artemis,  do  thou  forsake  me  not, 
But  raise  me  up  when  I  am  weariest, 
And    strengthen    me    with    beauty!      Shall    I    now, 

Having  this  sense  of  something  free  and  great 

Though  half  obscure  and  inarticulate, 
Desire  blurred  images  less   fair  than  thou? 
Would  that  I  chose  no  other  love  but  thee 
And  thy  unseen  immortal  purity. 


IF  ARTEMIS  SHOULD  COME 


WHAT   if  the  goddess  cometh   in   disguise 
Without   her   slender   bow    and    silver    shafts? 

What  if  she  comes  in   secret,   bearing  draughts 
Of  moonlight  with  her,  meaning  to  surprise 
My  heart  with  sweetness,  and  reward  my  eyes, 

That  watched  and  waited  through  so  many  years  ? 

And  if  with  covered  forehead  she  appears 
Hiding  her  crescent,  would  I  recognize 
And  find  her  out,  and  knew  her,  and  devise 

Some  feeble  words  of  welcome  and  of  prayer? 
Or  would  she  smile,  and  suddenly  arise 

In  purer  radiance  than  I  could  bear, 
Until  the  flood  of  wonder  caught  my  breath 
And  I  fell  drowning  in  the  arms  of  death? 


47 


WILT  THOU  WITHHOLD? 


HOW   long,   Immortal   One,   wilt  thou   withhold 
All  the  fulfilled  beauty  of  thy  face? 
Wilt   thou   not   come,   star-crowned   and   aureoled, 

Cloud-robed,  misty,  with  exceeding  grace, 

Wide-opening  the  silver-shedding  vase 
That  with  unwearied  arm  thou  dost  uphold, 
To  offer  me  some  ornament  of  gold, 

Some    shining   token    from    thy   treasure-place? 
Oh,  cross  this  bridge  and  barrier  of  Time, 

And  come  at  last,  for  I  have  waited  long, 
Assailing  thy   deaf   ears   with  pleading   rhyme, 

Invoking  thee  in  unavailing  song! 
When   wilt  thou   stand  before  me   statue-pale, 
And  with  fair  hands  thy  face  of  light  unveil? 


48 


OH,  COME 


OH,  come ! — before   mechanic  Time  has  paced 
The  measure  of  my  youth, — before  the  rage 

Of  vivid  impulse  fails,  when  crawling  Age 
Infects  the  heart,  and  lays  the  body  waste. 
I  would  not  stand  dishonored  and  defaced, 

Ashamed  before  thy  beauty,  to  display 

The  sad  habilaments  of  dull  decay 
By  which  the  soul's  free  spirit  is  disgraced. 
When  shall  thy  golden  plenitude  appear? 

Where  is  that  Spring  that  I  have  never  seen? 
Lo !   how   I  work  through   dark  delusions   here, 

And  hold  but  one   small   leaf  of  living  green ! 
Come !     Let  the  barren  days  be  overpast, 
And  these  dry  branches  blossom   forth  at  last ! 


49 


WITHIN  SOME  ISLE 


WITHIN   some  cloudy   island  of   the   west 
Where   Dian   comes  with  all  her   face  alight, 

The  arc  of  flame  above  her  forehead  white, 
The  argent  rays  upon  her  starry  crest — 
If  her  unearthly   form  were  manifest, 

If  I  should  see  her  passing  in  the  night, 
If  I  should  strive  to  stay  her,  and  arrest 

Her  coursing  on  in  silver-winged  flight, 
Would  she  not  slacken   in  the  eager  chase, 

But  only  shine  afar  and  glimmer  past? 
Would  she  not  even  pause  a  moment's  space, 
Or  yield  one  little  hand  to  my  embrace? 

If  I  besought  her,  would  she  not  at  last 
Unveil  the  sudden  brightness  of  her  face? 


IN  THE  DEEP  MIDNIGHT 


IN   the  deep  midnight  of  my  wandering 
How  strange  it  were — how  I  would  be  amazed 

To  see  thee  stand  with  silver  spear  upraised 
Or  notch  the  fatal  arrow  on  the  string ! 
Swift  from  the  bow  the  eager  bird  would  sing 

Straight   to   my  heart,   and   I   would   hear   behind 

The  rushing  of  the  multitudinous  wind, 
And  look  into  the  open  eyes  of  Spring. 
Let  Death,  the  vulture,  dip  his  crimson  beak, 

But  do  thou  only  linger  at  my  side 
To  lay  kind  hands  of  comfort  on  my  cheek; 

So  I  would  fade  as  flows  the  ebbing  tide, 
In  wide-eyed  quietness  and  perfect  rest, 
Calm  as  thy  sinking  crescent  in  the  west. 


THOU  WHOM  I  CANNOT  SEE 


THOU  whom  I  cannot  sec,  but  only  feel, 
Thou  hand  invisible  to  which  I  cling, 
High  mountain-peak  of  Poesy,  bright  Wing 
Sustaining  earthly  song — thou  Chariot-Wheel 
Of  Passion  racing  to  the  fair  ideal, — 
To  thee,  O  Artemis,  I  daily  bring 
The  fruitage  of  my  life  as  offering, 
And  hunger  toward  thee  with  a  vain  appeal! 
O  Spirit  of  all  Beauty,  are  thou  here?  .... 
Ah,  but  she  will  not  answer  or  appear ; 
She  has  no  local   form  nor  dwelling-place, 
No  human  mother  yet  can  give  her  birth, 
But  some   frail  tinctures  of  immortal  grarc 
Make  images  of  her  to  haunt  the  earth. 


DESCEND! 


DESCEND,   O   fairest  object  of   devotion, 
Whose  effluence  is  on  the  waves  that  seethe 

Under  the  moon,  upon  the  wide-spread  ocean! 
Emerge    from    dumb   abstraction,    and   unsheathe 
Thy  sword  of  beauty,  thou  for  whom  I  wreathe 

Fond   words   of   worship   round   an   empty   name — 

Pale  essence  of  an   unsubstantial  flame 
Invisible  as  is  the  air  I  breathe! 

Thou  are  as   silent  as  a  word  unspoken, 
Impalpable  as  that  white  glance  of  thine 
That  makes  the  lucid  waters  move  and  shine, 

When  on  the  sea  the  moon's  one  light  is  broken. 

Descend  upon  the  earth,  and  let  there  be 

Some  beautiful  embodiment  of  thee! 


53 


COULD  I  CREATE  THEE 


ALMOST  it  seems  that   from  this  heart  of  mine 
I  conld  create   thee  to  the   outward   sense, 
Cause  chording  notes  of  music  to  combine, 

And  rush  together  in  rich  confluence 
Of  clashing  harmonies  so   forceful  strong 

As   would  compel   thy   birth — yea,   would   condense 

And  sound  thee  into  form  by  violence, 
In  one  tremendous  tidal  wave  of  song. 
How  else  may  I  obtain  thee,  and  enclose 

Thy  viewless  essense  in  a  human  form, 

Perceptible   and  personal   and   warm? 
How  prison  it  like  beauty  in  a  rose? 
For  still  I  crave  a  form  of  thee,  complete 
With  eyes   and  lips,  with  human  hands  and   feet. 


54 


SHE   LIVES   FOREVER 


SHE   lives   forever   in  the   tones  that   sing 
In   forest  waters;   in  the   fall  and  flow 

Of  liquid  echoes  that  dissolve  and  go, 
I  hear  the  ripple  of  her  laughter  ring, 
And  her  familiar  voice  sweet-cadencing. 

Hers  is  the  beauty  that  is  bending  low 

The  humid  arch  of  the  celestial  bow; 
She  is  the  harmony  in  everything. 

I  feel  her  gazing  when  the  skies  are  blue, 
And  see  the  sad,  short  days  of  winter  bring 
From  her  the  wreathed  beauty  of  the  Spring— 

A  rose,  all  heavy  with  the  morning  dew— 

A  branching  pine-tree  when  the  moon  looks  through- 
The  flashing  upward  of  a  skylark's  wing. 


55 


SOME  PICTURE  DIM 


OH,   might   I   melt   into   some   picture   dim 
Of  cool,  green  trees  and  streams  and  shady  rest, 
Or  meet  with  mighty  Love  and  follow  him 

And  take  his   feathered  arrow  in  my  breast! 

So  might  I  ease  this  panting  heart,  oppressed 
By  such  dull  sorrow  as  the  skies  contain, 

When  dark  with  cloudy  grief  and  somberest, 
Heavy  with  unshed  tears  of  summer  rain. 
As  I  have  seen  the  dark  sky  rift  and  break 

When  torrent  showers  of  misty  gold   fell  through, 
So  might  the  rapture  of  my  heart  awake, 

So  would  the  ardor  of  my  hope  renew, 
And  I  be  glad  for  very  gladness's  sake 

As  if  the  wildest  of  all  dreams  were  ture. 


WE  DRIFTED 


WE  drifted  by  an  island  of  old  Greece; 
The  yellow   sunset   wavered  on   the   sea ; 
We  were  alone  together,  I  and  she, 

And  watched  the  sun  with  setting  orb  decrease, 

Till  with  a  smile  of  glory  and  of  peace 

The   sunset  brightened,   and   it   seemed   there   grew 
A   wind  of  radiance,  that  streamed  and  blew 

From   the   far   shining  of  the   Golden   Fleece. 

We  were  alone;   the  purple  ocean  lay 

Flushed  with  the  crimson  fire,  and  in  the  spell 
Of  gloaming  silence  that  around  us   fell 

We  floated  slowly  on  across  the  bay, 
And  saw  the  little  moon  with  curved  shell 

Drifting  above  the  sunset,  far  away. 


57 


THE  SKY 


THE  sky  that  like  an  irridescent  shell 
Flushed  o'er  the  purple  sea,  at  last  burned  low; 
Yet  in  the  embers  of  the  clouds  there  dwell 

Soft,  muted  colors  of  the  afterglow. 

The  moon   shot  silver   from  her  bended  bow, 
And   slanting  arrows   of   the   starlight   fell 
Into  the  dusk  and  shadow  of  a  dell, 
Where  shy,  sweet  flowers  and  tall,  red  poppies  grow. 
I  thought  she  sat  with  upturned  face  and  fair, 

And  one  round   shoulder  gleaming  cold   and  white 
O'er  which  the  tressed  river  of  her  hair 

Flowed  darkly,  deeply,  down  into  the  night — 
Or  was  it  but  the  fall  of  shadows  there, 

And  lilies  waving   in  the   pale   moonlight? 


THE  MOON'S  PALE  LIGHT 


A  SIFTING  of  the  moon's  pale  light  was  shed, 
Through    leaves    and    branches,    and    within    the 
space 

O'ergloomed  with  shade,  moon-patterned  into  lace, 
The  violet  dreamed,  the  lily  drooped  its  head, 
And  crimson   poppies   in  the   darkness   bled ; 

But  there  was  other  light  in  that  dim  place — 

It  was  the  upturned  beauty  of  her  face, 
By  which  the  myriad  souls  of  flowers  were  fed. 
For  there  at  last  I  saw  her,  and  a  swell 
Of  fainting  music  from  the  asphodel 

Mingled  with  words  I  could  not  understand; 
Then  she  was  lost  in  clouds  that  seemed  to  chase 
Dark  shadows  o'er  the  moon,  as  waves  erase 

A  writing  sculptured  on  the  ocean  sand. 


59 


O  IVORY  FEET ! 


0    IVORY   FEET!      O   hair  of  cloudy  gold! 
Ye    eyes    of    splendor   that    I    know    so    well, 
Those   conscious   eyes,   that  open   and   unfold 

Like    starry   blossoms    of   the    asphodel ! 

They  are  the   Shining  Ones  who   sentinel 
The   perfect  beauty   that  no   man   may  hold, 
The  vision  burning  in  my  dreams  of  old, 

The  beauty  none  may  conquer  or  compel. 
Out  of  her  shining  eyes  she  doth  create 

The   brightness   burning   in  her   silver   shell ; 
But   who   may   see   within   her   heart?     Too   late' 

0  beautiful  but  uncompassionate, 

1  know  thee  as  thou  art,  unearthly  cold, 
A  thought  divinely   fair  but  desolate! 


60 


I  DREAMED 


I  DREAMED  that  I  awoke  and  found  her  gone, 
Uplifted  on  the  rosy  wings  of  Dawn; 
I  saw  the  emptiness  where  she  had  lain, 
And  startled  Joy,  fleet-footed  as  a  fawn, 

Sprang  sudden  from  me  and  was  cleft  in  twain, 
Transfixed   and  stopped  and  in   an   instant  slain. 

I  was  bereft  and  utterly  alone, 
And   felt  the  pillars  of  my  life  withdrawn, 

And  in  my  dream   I  heard  the  ocean  moan, 
For  all  around  me  was  the  voiceful  sea; 

Unnumbered  tears  kept  dropping  down  like  rain, 
And  standing  there  amid  enormous  pain 
I  shuddered,  like  some  winter-withered  tree 
Swpet  by  the  bitter  wind  of  misery. 


01 


I  LOOKED  FOR  HER 


I   LOOKED    for   her   among   rock-ribbed  mountains, 
I  searched  for  her  beside  the  wave-spread  sea, 
I   saw  her   faint  reflection  in  still   fountains, 

But   could   not  clasp   it,    for   it  was   not   she. 

I  could  not  find  her,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
Some  unredeemable  and  huge  mistake, 
Some   dream   from  which   I   struggled  to   awake, 

And  my  lost  joy  came  never  back  to  me. 
But  I  could  not   forget  her,  and  pursue 

Some  vulgar  hope   and  cheerful   destiny, 
Or  love  my  life  as  happy  mortals  do, 
For  I  was  passion-torn  and  pierced  through; 

My  life  was  cadenced  in  a  minor  key, 

Actaeon-like,  devoured  by  phantask. 


62 


I  PAUSED 


IT  was  a  silent  house  I  paused  before, 
Some  ruined  mansion  of  departed  mirth, 

That  stood  alone  amid  exceeding  dearth. 
An  antique  garland  hung  beside  the  door, 
The    wreath    that    some    Greek-hearted   lover    wore 

When   such  as  he  yet  lived  upon   the   earth, 

When  Love  itself  was  held  a  thing  of  worth 
As  it  was  holden  in  the  days  of  yore. 
This  was  the  wreath  he  had  suspended  there 

As  votive-tribute  of  the  love  he  bore 
Because   a   woman's   face   had  once  been    fair; 
This  was  the  wreath  that  she  disdained  to  wear, 
These  were  the  leaves  that  never  crowned  her  hair, 

And  now  both  face  and  garland  were  no  more. 


I  CLIMBED  THE  STAIR 


I  TOUCHED  the  brittle  leaves  and  climbed  the  stair, 
And  crossed  the  threshold,  meaning  to  explore 

And  with  disturbing  feet  to  traverse  o'er 
This  palace  of  deserted  rooms  and  bare. 
But  in  the  central  hall  I  was  aware 

That  festal  cups  lay  downcast  on  the  floor ; 

Strange   desolation   seemed  to   rise   and  pour 
From  out  their  hollow  rims,  and  everywhere 
There  was  a  reek  of  ruin  in  the  air. 
Still-statued  Silence  in  that  empty  hall 

Gloomed    fearfully,    with    long-suspended   breath ; 
Dim  shadows  crept  and  gathered  on  the  wall, 
And  I  could  see  descending  over  all 

The  beautiful  obscurity  of  death. 


AMONG  THE  ROSES 


SHE  lieth  down  among  the  roses  red ; 
The  asphodel  is  on  her  closed  eyes; 
The  richness  of  her  unbound  hair  is  spread 
Divinely  round  her,  as  upon  the  bed 

She  lieth  still  and  cannot  move  or  rise. 
She  lieth  still  as  do  the  sculptured  dead, 
The  light  that  lay  upon  her  eyes  and  lips 
Forlornly  faded  in  obscure  eclipse. 
No  more  the  favor  of  her  eyes  is  shed 
Upon  my  darkness ;  in  a  silver  spell, 
With  wreathed  roses  at  her  feet  and  head, 
The  last  bright  arrow  of  her  glance  is  sped. 
Gone  is  her  glory  like  a  star  that  fell — 
O  pale,  pure  splendor  of  her  eyes,  farewell! 


THE  SYCAMORES 


AS  some  defeated  and  defenseless  king 
At   last   puts   off   the   purple    robe   he   wore, 
Or   stands   with   hopeless   arm   upraised   to   fling 
His  useless  crown  upon  the  palace  floor, 
So  from  its  nerveless  limbs  the  sycamore 

Lets   fall   its  old   and   autumn-withered   wreath, 
That  is  so  faded  and  forlorn  a  thing, 

To  waste  and  crumble  on  the  ground  beneath. 
But  now  the  little  stream  whose  waters  bore 
Dead,  shipwrecked  leaves  of  the  departed  Spring 

To  be  cast  upon  some  deserted  shore, 
No  longer  flows,  no  more  is  murmuring; 
But  in  great  circles,  with  outstretched  wing 
The  watchful  buzzard  has  begun  to  soar. 


66 


CALIFORNIAN  SONNETS 
PART  3 

NOT  SHE 


NOT  she  who  looks  on  me  with  worldly  eyes ; 
Not  she  whose  little  kindness  is  outworn, 
Whom  my  imagination  did  adorn 
Too  perfectly  for  her  to  realize. 
Does  not  her  silence  even  now  despise 
My  heart's  disclosure?    Have  I  not  been  torn, 
And  is  not  hers  the  bramble  and  the  thorn 
That  in  the  heart's  most  nervous  tissue  lies  ? 
Harsh  and  insensible,  it  is  not  she, 
Who  saw  no  flame  of  noble  thought  arise 
Upon  the  altar  of  my  sacrifice, 

But  one  within  her  who  is  yet  to  be, 
One  great  in  kindness,  who  could  recognize 
The  larger  pride  of  my  humility. 


SHE  ROBBED 


SHE   robbed  me  of  irreparable  years, 
And  kept  the  pleasure  of  her  youth  from  me; 
Her  scarlet  anger,  like  a  flame  that  sears, 
Shone  in  the  mirror  of  her  eyes,  and  she 
Who  was   the  object  of  my  constancy, 

Whom  I  had  hoped  for  when  my  heart  was  strong, 
Took  wretched  tribute  of  the  soul's  hot  tears, 

Consumed  the  substance  of  my  life  with  wrong; 
Hers  was  the  voice  that  ever  in  my  ears 

Fled  like  the  dying  cadence  of  a  song. 
Yet  all  my  passion  was  reserved  to  her 
Whom  still  the  ardor  of  my  thought  pursued 
In   human   likeness   and  similitude; 
I  was  her  beauty's  priest  and  worshipper. 


68 


O  THOU  IN  WHOM 


OTHOU  in  whom  I  w6uld,  yet  cannot,  see 
Some  other  wisdom  than  the  world  has  taught, 
Some  spark  of  spiritual  genius,   free 

From  the  small  circles  of  concentric  thought, 
I  did  not  dare  demand  so  much  from  thee 
But  by  strong  faith  in  thy  divinity. 

Were  I  not  certain  that  thy  soul  had  caught 

Some    flash    of    God's    great    lightning — were    there 

nought 

But  the  poor  form  of  unheroic  clay, 
No  godlike  impulse  unsubdued — no  ray 

Shot  by  a  daimon — if  thy  soul  were  blind, 
Could  I  have  held  thee  in  such  honor?     Nay, 

No  doubts  would  wrong  thee  if  I  once  could  find 

The  generous  errors  of  a  lofty  mind. 


THE  LIGHTNING 


rl  ^HE  lightning  flashed  before  him,  and  he  cried, 
-L      "O  mine  at  last!"— but  then  the   falling  rain 

Beat  down  in  torrents  of  despair  and  pain 
That  blotted  out  and  utterly  denied 
All  that  the  flashing  hope  had  prophesied. 

And  so  the  purpose  of  his  life  was  slain, 

The  treasure  of  his  heart  poured  out  in  vain, 
Like  water  lost  upon  some  desert  wide. 
But  Time  flowed  onward  as  a  tolling  bell, 
And  waves  of  useless  objects  rose  and  fell ; 

And  he  complained,  "Oh,  hard  to  be  endured ! 
Confined  within  this  solitary  cell 

Of  individual  life,  I  am  immured — 
Even  as  beasts  in  hollow  places  dwell!" 


70 


THE  BITTER  OCEAN 


0  BITTER  ocean  of  eternal  strife! 
O  piteous  seclusion  and  profound 

Of  human  islands  that  the  sea  flows  round! 
The  barriers  of  individual  life 

Shut  like  the  sea  about  them,  and  the  sound 
Of  isle  that  shouts  to  isle— the  distant  cries 
That  from  the  vastness  of  the  sea  arise— 

Faint  on  the  voiceless  ocean  and  are   drowned. 
Walled  in  with  solitude,  each  walks  apart, 
Penned  in  the  strait  enclosure  of  his  heart; 

Each  is  an  isle  as  other  islands  are, 
Each  in  a  separate  dream  of  life  enfolded, 
Within  the  little  world  his  thought  has  molded,- 

Each  has  the  ocean  round  him  as  a  bar. 


71 


I  ASKED 


T  ASKED  for  love  that  is  no  slave  to  pride, 

•*-     Unangry  love,  that  hath  no  power  to  sting, 

Love  that  is  not  found  wanting  or  belied, 
But  unreserved  and  all-surrendering, 

Wherein  conjoin  and  nevermore  divide; 

Desire,  that  thirsteth  on  unsatisfied, 
And  generous  devotion,  that  doth  spring 
From  noble  natures  in  their  passioning. 

I  asked  for  love  that  hath  no  hard  alloy, 
No  gross  or  mean  indignity  of  will, 
Nor  aught  ungracious  to  estrange  and  chill, 

Deflower  the  heart's  fair  garden,  and  destroy 
(As  ruthless  children  trample  down  and  kill) 

The  sensitive  and  fragile  bloom  of  joy. 


TO   SAVE 


I  ASKED  sufficiently  of  love  to  save 
The  destitution  of  a  life  outworn, 

To  be  the  column  on  whose  strength  is  borne 
The  high  entablature  and  architrave 
Of  heavy-builded  years.     I  did  but  crave 

Some  closer  kinship  than  I  yet  have  known, 
A  love  responsive  to  the  love  I  gave, 

One  human  heart  to  mingle  with  my  own. 
In  this  vast  universe  of  living  things 
Is  there  no  love  to  shade  me  with  its  wings, 
No  spark  of  being  that  to  mine  is  bound, 
No  soul's  companion  who  may  yet  be  found? 
This  is  the  vision  that  disturbs  my  sleep ; 
For  this  I  waken  in  the  night  and  weep. 


73 


MY  HEART'S  COMPANIONS 


WHERE  are  my  heart's  companions,  linked  to  me 
By  ties  unbreakable,  the  friends  I  hold 

By  indissoluble  decrees  of  old? 
I  am  the  severed  branch — where  is  the  tree? 
Where  can  the  likeness  of  my  nature  be? 

Or  in  the  starry  amplitude  of  space 

Is  there  not  even  a  familiar  face, 
Nor  any  partner  in  my  destiny? 
For  them  I  err  and  wander,  and  obey 

Until  the  circuit  of  my  exile  close, 

Unspent  affinity  that  first  arose, 
Though  starved  eternities  may  pass  away 
'Till  fruitless  Time  brings  forth  another  day, 

Ripe  with  divine  reunion  and  repose. 


74 


DISMEMBERED 


ALONE,  dismembered  from  my  heart's  allies, 
I  live  surrounded  by  an  alien  race; 
Like  some  stray  star  that  wanders  through  the  skies, 

Lost  from  its  constellation,  and  must  trace 

Strange  pathways  through  illimitable  space, 
So  in  this  journey  that  before  me  lies 
I  move  alone  amid  the  alien  eyes, 

And  bear  my  solitude  from  place  to  place. 
Yet  by  the  force  impelling  star  to  star, 

By  the  attraction  that  doth  urge  and  bind 
Each  stellar  outcast  to  its  place  and  kind, 
I,  too,  am  drawn  and  guided  from  afar ; 

Beyond  the  zodiac  I  hope  to  find 
The  shining  House  where  my  companions  are. 


75 


THE  ROSES  MOCK 


0  ROSES !     Roses !  ye  do  mock  my  sight, 
Staining  the  air  with  fragrance  and  with  fire, 
Wounding  the   fainting  air  with  colors  bright 
Yea,   stabbing  me  with  beauty   and  desire. 
I  press  my  lips  upon  your  perfect  bloom, 
O  ardent  images  of  all  delight, 
Kiss  with  my  eyes  your  crimson  leaves  and  white, 

And  in   deep   sighs  your  honeyed  breath  consume. 
But  ah,  they  wither,  waste  themselves,  and  wane, 

Like  sickly  moons  o'ertaken  by  the  day ; 
What  ghastly  element  do  they  contain, 

By  some  incredible  and   fearful  spell 

Bending  them  down  to  torture  and  decay? 

Slain  with  the  roses  lies  the  asphodel. 


AS  I  REVOLVED  THESE  WRONGS 


AS  I  revolved  these  wrongs  and  sorrows  o'er, 
Like  the  vague  murmur  in  an  ocean  shell 

I  heard   faint  prophesying  voices  tell 
Of  wave-enwreathed  islands,  on  whose  shore 
All  poor  and  perished  flowers  are  born  once  more, 

Raise   themselves   up  again  to  bloom   in  pride, 

And  with  their  burst  and  broken   hearts  untied, 
The  roses,  too,  their  ruined  grace  restore. 
There,  saith  the  tale,  all  hapless  things  regain 

Their    shattered    glory    and    their    stricken    might; 
And  sometimes,  when  the  many-fingered  rain 

Touching  the  earth,  plays  music  in  the  night, 
I  sail  and  search  for  them  in  ways  forlorn, 
Led  by  the  lost  moon's  light,  and  sunken  horn. 


77 


FAILURE 


OUT  of  my  failure  shall  be  born  success; 
All  true  and  beautiful  desire  in  me, 

All  nobleness  of  will  that  I  possess, 

Changed  by  the  heart's   divinest  alchemy, 

Shall   recombine,   transform  and  coalesce; 

The  pure  residuum  of  thought  shall  be 
Merged  in  immortal   form  and  potency, 

Transmuted  into  everlastingness. 

Half-deeds  and  failures  scar  my  life  on  earth, 
Yet  what  I  lose  shall  be  another's  gain; 

This  life  that  seemeth  of  so  little  worth- 
All  I  endure  of  weariness  and  pain — 

Shall  be  the  means  in  some  remote  rebirth 
By  which  that  other  shall  at  last  attain. 


ANTARYAMIN 


NOT  I  but  thou,  O  Master  of  my  fate, 
Shall  be  the  arbiter  of  loss  and  gain ; 
Whether  thy  unseen  hand  shall  liberate 

Or  bind  some  hopeless  hope  with  bar  and  chain, 

I  dare  no  longer  challenge  or  arraign, 
But  will  endure  thy  justice,  and  await 

Whatever  destiny  thou  wilt  ordain, 
Unhappy  though  it  be,  and  desolate. 
Even  in  my  most  passion  I  have  laid 

This  rebel  and  resisting  heart  of  mine 
Upon  thy   formless  altar,  and  have  prayed, 

"The  unknown  issues  of  my  life  are  thine ; 
Make  due  adjustment,  yet  if  it  may  be, 
Take  not  away  my  one  desire  from  me." 


79 


OM! 


NO  skill  but  thine  can  reconcile  and  blend 
All  these  unequal  elements  of  strife, 
Untwist  the  woven  errors  of  a  life, 

And  fit  together,  join,  repair,  and  mend 

Each  fragmentary  part  and  separate  end. 
Thou  art  the  Self  presiding  in  the  heart, 
The  central  point  from  which  all  things  depart 

And  into  which  they  circle  back,  and  tend. 

Thou  art  the  sole  supporter  and  the  friend; 
Only  thy  strong  compulsion  can  unite 
These  scattered  rays  in  one  synthetic  light. 

Thou  art  the  ladder  by  which  all  ascend, 
The  final  resting-place  upon  the  height, 

That  Silence  which  no  words  may  comprehend 


80 


SEA  SONNETS 

OF 
SANTA  BARBARA 


8l 


BLUE  Summer's  breath  is  in  the  air  today, 
And  moves  amid  the  drifting  clouds  that  lie 

Becalmed  within  the  ocean  of  the  sky, 
While  racing  on  the  beach  with  manes  of  spray 
The   white   sea-horses   throw   themselves   away; 

They  rear  and  run  and  stumble,  plunge  and  fly, 

Or,  riotous  with  speed,  go  dashing  by 
Down  the   foam-lipped  margin  of  the  bay. 
Faint  shadows   from  the  idle  clouds   are  thrown, 
And  shreds  of  color  from  the  sky  are  blown 

O'er  azure  meadows  of  the  changeful  sea, 
Where  streaked  and  ribboned  with  a  paler  hue 
The  ocean-acres  of  celestial  blue 

Lie  blossoming  in  fair  serenity. 


E  ocean  murmurs,  and  the  sea-bells  chime. 
As,  rythming  in  vague  immensity, 

The  ancient-voiced  and  tumultuous  sea 
Reiterates   from  immemorial  time 
Huge  tones  and  harmonics  of   ocean-rhyme, 

In  whose  vast,  mournful  sound  there  seems  to  be 

An  epic  sorrow  and  monotony, 
Sea-musical,   incessant   and   sublime. 
This  fluent  ocean  that  is  clasped  and  curled 
Around  the  far  circumference  of  the  world 

Resounds  forever  in  a  wild  unrest; 
Like   rushing  of  innumerable   feet 
The  waves  fall  in  confusion  and  retreat, 

Swelling  in  slow  procession  from  the  west. 


84 


THE  sea's  innumerable  voices  cry; 
Its  million  hands  reach  upward  on  the  shore; 
The  restless  waves  besiege  the  land,  and  roar 

In  gusty  passion  when  they  fall  and  die. 

The  breakers  roll  with  arching  crests  flung  high, 
And  plunging  on  the  beach,  they  ravage  o'er 
The  worn,  wave-tortured  sand,  and  evermore 

They  drain  and  trickle  backward  with  a  sigh. 

The  ocean  lives.     Its  giant  pulses  beat 
Forever  in  these  waves  that  toil  and  run 
Through  dateless  years,   'till  Time  itself  be  done 

Each  in  its  turn  goes  downward  to  defeat; 
They  waver,  and  are  broken  one  by  one  .  .  . 

Still,  still  the  waves  their  ancient  song  repeat. 


LUE-BOSOMED  ocean !    Thou  whose  tides  o'erflow 
The  ruin  of  the  world's  lost  continents, 

Whose  waves  have  poured  in  stormy  affluence 
Upon  the  dying  and  convulsive  throe 
Of  isles  that  sank  in  terror  long  ago, 

Sucked  down  like  ships— thy  waters  quest  and  climb 

And  dash  forever  on  the  cliffs  of  Time; 
The  drifting  winds  sweep  over  thee,  and  lo ! 
There  comes  the  wild,  wave-music  and  the  motion 

The  echoings  of  awful  harmony 

That  men  have  heard  when  standing  by  the  sea. 
And   felt  their  hearts  with  some  divine  emotion 
Lift  like  the  swelling  surges  of  the  ocean, 

And  move  out  grandly  as  the  tides  to  thee. 


MEDITERRANEAN  SONNETS 
1907-8 


ON  SICILY 


THESE  are  the  hills  of  Sicily,  and  there 
Within  their  circle  lies  the  lovely  vale, 

Across  whose  floor  once  walked  the  goddess  pale 
In  search  of  lost  Persephone  the  fair. 
Then  sudden  winter  hardened  in  the  air, 

And  life  was  withered  'till  the  curse  was  past; 
But  when  the  Lost  One  came  again  at  last 
The  land  burst  into  blossom  everywhere. 
Thou  wast  a  grief  to  Ceres,  and  since  then, 

Because  of  thee,  have  many  mortals  sighed; 
Yet  thou  didst  comfort  her — remember  when. 

Lost  in  thy  valleys,  Athens  bled  and  died; 
As  thou  was  pitiful  and  kind  before, 
Could  not  thy  power  make  good  the  loss  once  more? 

Messina. 


SONNET  ON  THE  NILE.     NO.   i 


THOU  art  the  Nile,  the  River  of  the  Past, 
whose  waters  feed  the  ancientest  of  lands; 

Thy  course  is  set  amid  the  desert  sands, 
And  over  thee  a  glaring  heat  is  cast 
Down  by  the  sun;  but  thou  dost  roll  thy  vast, 

Slow  current  ever  onward  with  no  haste, 

Making  a  trail  of  life  across  the  waste, 
A  winding  Horn  of  Plenty,  till  at  last 
Thy  waves  forget  the  region  of  their  birth ; 

And  where  they  come  to  rest  within  the  sea 
No  man  had  heard  of  any  spot  on  earth 

That  was  their  source,  nor  guessed  where  it  could  be. 
Thou  art  eternal,  but  thy  temples  rust, 
Grow  old,  and  fall  and  crumble  into  dust. 

Luxor,  Egypt. 


90 


SONNET  ON  THE  NILE.     NO.  2 


THE  Stream  of  History,  whose  hidden  springs 
Pour  year  by  year  their  flood  upon  the  plain, 

And  put  into  our  hands  the  endless  chain 
Of  all  the  Past,  yet  hide  the  source  of  things. 
Thy  tombs  hold  thirty  dynasties  of  kings 

From  Menes  downward,  and  a  thousand  more; 

But  who  can  say  how  many  went  before? 
Thebes  is  a  name;  her  pride  has  taken  wings; 
Her  hundred  gates  are  now  no  longer  found. 

Upon   thy   margin   cities   come   and  go, 
Flower,  fade  and  die,  and  sink  into  the  ground. 

Yet   still   unchanged   thine   ancient   waters   flow  : 
On  either  side  the  deserts  stretch  away, 
And  as  it  was  at  first  it  is  today. 

Luxor,  Egypt. 


THE  PHCENICIAN  COAST 


I  SAIL  where  sailed  the  merchant  men  of  Tyre, 
Where   Sidon's   captains,   searchers-out   of  gain, 

Bore  back  their  gathered  wealth   across   the   main 
From  farthest  lands,  so  great  was  their  desire. 
And  this  in  them  was  even  as  a  fire 

That  drove  them   restless  over  seas  unknown, 

And  made  them  leave  on  barbarous  coasts  their  own 
Crude,  skillful  arts,  and  into  all  inquire. 
So  from  the  spoils  of  traffic  and  the  oar 

Phoenicia's  rival  towns  grew  rich  and  great, 
And  ere  their  strength  was  withered  up  by  war 

Their  trading  daughter-city  rose  in  state, 
For  Carthage  was  their  offspring,  as  men  say, 
And  in  her  time  was  prouder  far  than  they. 


92 


TO  DAPHNE,  MY  SISTER 


T^VAPHNE,   your   lovely   name   still   lingers   here 
-L'    Where  your  bright  namesake  changed  into  a  tree; 

Do  you  recall  how  pleased  you  used  to  be 
In  reading  that  fair  tale?     You  should  be  near— 
Perhaps  you  are,  and  maybe  you  can  hear 

Well,  anyway,  in  time  I  know  that  you, 

If  living,  would  have  come  to  Hellas,  too, 
And  loved  her  purple  hills  and  waters  clear, 
As  you  loved  those  old  myths.     I  could  have  shown 

The  road  where  Theseus  came,  and  pointed  out 
The  very  spot  where  Dictys'  net  was  thrown; 

"This,"  I  would  say,  "may  be  the  isle,  no  doubt, 
Where  Circe  dwelt",  and  then  you  would  have  seen 
lolco*  and  the  fountain  of  P'^ne. 

Athens. 


93 


ON  LEAVING  GREECE 


I  NEVER  dreamed  our  common  earth  could  be 
So  wondrous  fair  as  this,  though  many  a  year 
Some  certain  instinct  taught  me  to  revere, 
And  build  up  altars  in  my  soul  to  thee. 
But  now,  alas !  the  Attic  mountains  flee ; 
The  rock  of  Corinth  after  them  retires, 
And  Iris  stoops,  to  tinge  with  colored  fires 
The  crown  of  Helicon  across  the  sea. 

0  land  immortal,  beautiful   and  bright, 

Land  where  the  Day  first  blossomed  out  of  Night! 

1  love  yet  leave  thee,  looking  back  in  vain; 
Thy  image,  though,  shall  in  my  heart  remain, 
And  thy  fair  influence  be  with  me  yet. 
Farewell,  O  Hellas !— I  shall  not  forget. 


94 


OTHER  POEMS 


95 


SPRING  has  awakened  on  the  hills,  and  burst  forth 
from  the  trees  in  the  canyon,  but  into  my  heart  it 
has  not  entered  yet. 

Today  the  golden  glory  of  the  world  cries  loudly. 
The  summer  radiance  lights  up  with  vivid  green  these 
tree-encumbered  slopes,  and  turns  to  cerulean  blue  the 
wide-spread  ocean.  And  the  flood  of  color  beats  beau 
tiful  upon  my  sight,  but  it  does  not  shine  into  my  heart. 

The  day  fades  out  to  evening,  and  in  the  western 
sky  clouds  burn  in  quiet  crimson.  There  is  a  distant 
melody  of  birds;  then,  as  the  manifold  veils  of  night 
descend,  darkening  the  world,  deep  stillness  gathers, 
but  that  peace  does  not  enter  my  heart. 


97 


TO  A,  GREEK  STATUE  ON  AN  ANTIQUE  TOMB 


T  DO  not  know,  yet  I  will  prophesy, 

•*•     And  certify,  and  say,  there  is  no  Death. 

No  final,  lasting  loss  of  aught  that  lives, 

Is  beautiful  and  loved,   for  now  today 

I  dimly  see  how  such  a  thing  may  be. 

Thy  fairness  is  not  stone,  although  the  rock 
Bears  it  upon  its  surface  as  a  robe; 
Nor  is  it  Form,  although  the  Form  doth  hold 
And  fix  it  on  the  marble's  heaviness, 
Until  the  Form  itselft  doth  change  away, 
The   fairness  of  the  Form  is  Mystery, 
An  immaterial  Fire,  a  Force  divine, 
A  living  Influence  or  Consciousness, 
That    here   hath    spread    itself    upon   thy    shape, 
And  so  become  perceptible  to  me. 


I  say  we  love  not  rocks,  nor  softest  flesh, 
Nor  words,  nor  deeds,  nor  anything  at  all, 
Except  this  conscious  Force  or  Entity 
That  clothes   the  chemic  grains  and  globules  fine — 
Sense-moving  things  of  no  intrinsic  worth — 
With  foreign  virtues  native  to  itself. 

I   say   that   Conscious   Life,   intangible, 
Reaching  its  mystic  rays  we  know  not  whence, 
Reflects  itself  upon  the  solid  world 
Through  brains  and  nerves,  creating  forms  and  things, 
And  so  reveals  itself,  and  is  perceived 
Through  brains   and   nerves   again.     This   influence 
Is— must  be— deathless.     Say  the  wave  subsides; 
The  wind  behind  blows  on,  and  if  the  storm 
Doth  also  cease  at  last,  it  is  because 
Unconscious  force  was  gathered  there  by  chance, 
With  no  internal  strength,  no  live  desire 
To  hold  itself  together  and  cohere, 
And  from  an  inward  source  of  energy 
Resist  extenrnal  friction. 


99 


Thou  art   fair, 

And  as  thy  form  wears  down  and  breaks  away, 
The  fairness  is  not  lost;  I  mean  to  say, 
Its  virtue  lies  not  in  the  stone  at  all, 
But   in   the    Life   which   made   it,   and   that   Life- 
Its  cause,   the   thing  which   it   doth   represent, 
By  which  the   fairness  is,  and  which  it  means- 
Survives,  be  sure,  and  can  again   restore 
Its  visible  expression  in  the  world. 

So  if  thou  are  the  form  of  one  who  lived, 
I  think  that  she  is  living  yet,  and  may 
Sometime  and  somewhere  shape  another  form 
Expressive  of  her  self,  and  reappear 
In  semblance  no   less   fair.     Or  else,   if  thou 
Dost   only   image    forth   a   sculptor's   thought, 
Then  his  alone  thy  fairness  is,  and  he, 
Though  long  since  vanished,  may  come  back  again- 
Be  manifest  once  more— and  in  new  forms 
Delight  our  eyes  with  visions  of  himself. 


100 


May  it  be  so !     I  cannot  say  to  thee, 
"Such   fairness   fades   and  dies.     It  is   in  vain." 
Thy  presence  scorns  all  logic,   soothes   all   doubts, 
And  I  can  only  ask,  "How  is  it  saved ''" 
Well,   T  have  tried  to  answer,  guessed  my  guess, 
And  phrase  it  thus  :    "Inevitable  dec£,j  * '", " , .,  '  \ ' 
Attacks  not  precious   things,  things  having  life 
And   innate   loveliness,   but  only   slays 
The    forms    and    combinations   physical 
Through  which  these  living  things   are  manifest 
To  sight  and  sense;   dissolves  and  dissipates 
The  instruments  of  clay,  which  things  with  life 
Each  moment  mold   for  transient  use,  to  deck 
In  their  lent  lovliness  and  so  be  known." 

Athens,   1908. 


101 


SAPPHIC    STANZAS 


ROUND  me  flock  the  Hours,  and  with  feet  reluctant 
Pause  to  watch  and  pain  me  with  weary  visions, 
Troubled  dreams,  whose  images  rise  and  linger 
Sighing,  beside  me. 

,H,igh<int  heaven  ,bu-rneth  the  gem  of  Lyra, 
;Y<ei'.no  'spjinfi  .de^ce,nds   from  the  strings  celestial; 
Long   I   wait,  then  turn  to  the  never-fading 
Diadem   royal. 

Underneath  its  rays   I  remember  dimly 
All  the  tale  of  lone  Ariadne's  sorrow 
When  she  woke  in  Naxos,  beside  the  ocean, 
Lying  forsaken. 

One  by  one  the  Hours  are  departing  slowly, 
Would  that  I  might  see  ere  they  bring  the  morning 
Thy  loved  face  upturned  in  the  twilight,  softly 
Gazing  upon  me. 

Much  I  long  to  know  of  thy  presence  near  me, 
Hear  thy  voice   and   listen   the   words   soft-spoken, 
Then  to  take  thy  hand,  and  in  silence  see  thee 
Tenderly  smiling. 

Santa  Cruz  Island,  1906. 


102 


FRAGMENT 


RAISE  the  veil  and  loose  the  zone, 
Still  the  secret  is  her  own; 
Each  to  other  is  unknown, 
Each  is  evermore  alone. 

Broken  heart  and  barren  bone 
Harden  into  heavy  stone ; 
Can  the  curse  be  overthrown? 
Can  the  struggle  and  the  groan 
For  the  severed  life  atone? 


103 


TYRANNUS  OMNIPOTENS 

Nineteenth   Century  Science  Dreams  about   the  Nine 
teenth  Century  God 


GOD  still  begrudged  men  wisdom.     Age  by  age 
They  wrested  Truth  from  His  unwilling  grasp, 
And  gained  more  power,  while  He  took  little  heed 
But  left  them   to  themselves   in  cold  contempt, 
Save  that  He  still  exacted  all  the  tax 
Of  servile  worship  due  from  His  creation. 

Men  grew  to  know  the  Master  of  the  Spheres, 
The  Apathy  that  helped  them  not  at  need, 
And  hated  Him  as  Tyrant  of  the  world— 
A  sullen  Power  with  sympathy  for  none, 
Nor  any  wish  but  sacrifice  and  praise 
And  human  adulation.     Time  went  on, 
And  mortals   struggled   forward  step  by  step; 
The  aid  that  God  denied,  each  gave  to  each. 
And   mutual    action    compassed    many   things. 
All  gave  their  lives  to  Science,  laying  bare 
Each  detail  patiently,  in  hope  to  win 
Some  secret  of  great  moment.     Some  were  wise, 
And  these  God  slew  the  first,  but  not  before 
They  poured  their  knowledge  out  into  the  world 


104 


For  those  that  followed.     So  it  was  the  race 

Accumulated   lore   by   slow   degrees, 

Till  Death  was  subject  to  their  will;  and  each 

Had  leisure  to  investigate  and  learn. 

Then  they  grew  mighty,   seizing  on  the  hid 

And  awful  forces  of  the  universe 

For  their  own  use,  and  God  begrudged  it  all, 

Yet  took  no  heed,  in  insolence  of  strength. 

One  man  there  was,  most  wise  of  human  kind. 
Whose  hand  had  opened  every  fastened  door 
That  barred  his  path,  and  gained  the  power  to  turn 
The  planets   in   their   courses.     These   things   done, 
He  dared  an  awful  deed,  and  sought  to  find 
Through   silent   centuries   that  power   supreme, 
The   Secret  of  Omnipotence,  which  gives 
Infinite  rule,  and  constitutes  the  god. 

He  won  the  prize  divine,  and  as  his  hand 
Was   stretched  to  grasp   it,   God  beheld  the  act 
Knew  the  rebellious  purpose,  and  upraised 
A  blasting  bolt,  terrific  to  destroy. 

Too  late !     The  deed  is  done,  and  naught  avails 
To  quell  the  mortal  now,  grown  God  indeed; 
And  God,  no  longer  God,  is  now  become 
A  slave  to  that  which  He  Himself  created. 

1906. 


105 


PAPYRUS  LEAF 


T"  1ST  to  me,  O  ye  people,  for  I  who  speak  am  wiser 
-*-'  even  than  Pyrrho,  son  of  day-bringing  Phoebus, 
and  my  words  are  Truth. 

The  Universe  is,  and  was  from  the  beginning,  and 
it  extends  everywhere  without  limit,  and  in  it  all  things 
c-::st  but  Emptiness ;  and  although  it  is  itself  Infinity, 
yet  Infinity  does  not  exist  within  it.  And  the  Universe 
is  Subsfance,  and  when  Substance  was,  then  also  was 
Time ;  and  at  the  same  moment  Substance  moved  in 
Time,  and  there  \vas  Motion,  out  of  which  we  came, 
raid  the  world,  and  into  which  we  shall  sometime 
return  again,  for  this  Motion  endureth  forever,  so  that 
nc-hing  is  immortal.  And  as  Substance  moves  it 
changes,  and  is  never  twice  the  same,  so  that  some 
times  it  is  so  fine  that  no  man  ever  saw  it  with  his 
eyes,  or  felt  it  with  his  hands;  and  sometimes  it  is  so 
thick  that  it  seems  not  to  be;  and  if  you  should  take 
twelve  pipes  and  blow  upon  them  all  at  once,  and  then 
do  so  again,  the  sound  would  not  be  quite  the  same, 
for  one  little  note  would  be  different. 

And  the  motion  is  ceaseless  and  eternal,  so  that 
somewhere  it  produces  all  things;  and  if  a  mortal 
were  given  wings  of  light,  and  power  to  wander  un- 
dissolvcd  in  all  places,  he  might  leave  the  stars  behind. 


106 


and  speed  through  silent  years  where  naught  but  black 
ness  could  be  seen  in  the  skies  around;  he  might  pass 
through  centuries  of  fire,  through  seas  more  vast  than 
the  sky  itself,  through  universes  more  solid  than  brass, 
and  other  strange  sights  he  would  surely  see,  so  many 
that  all  would  seem  the  same;  but  at  last  he  would  find 
the  likeness  of  all  that  his  heart  desired,  whatever  that 
might  be,  and  escape  from  all  that  his  soul  hated, 
however  far  it  followed. 

So  that  all  things  are,  and  yet  nothing  is,  for  one 
is  as  the  other.  And  the  things  we  think  are  fixed, 
but  happen  for  a  moment,  and  all  things  that  seem, 
are  but  illusions,  and  none  of  them  are  true,  but  all 
are  uncertain.  And  we  ourselves  are  but  illusions, 
and  to  us  some  illusions  seem  pleasant,  and  others  seem 
painful,  and  the  former  we  seek,  and  the  latter  we 
avoid,  but  in  reality  it  is  not  so. 

For  each  of  us  is  but  Substance  in  Motion,  and 
whiles  we  seem  great  and  whiles  we  seem  small,  and 
many  shapes  we  take,  and  sometimes  we  are,  and 
sometimes  we  are  not,  and  in  many  places  we  arc 
scattered,  and  from  many  sides  are  we  gathered  up, 
and  we  are  different  from  moment  to  moment,  and 
yet  always  we  are  same. 

This  I  say,  I  who  am  wise  indeed,  and  my  words  are 
Truth. 

1905. 


107 


EPIGRAMS 


"TT°ras  non  numero  nisi  serenas" — 

•*•  -*•     Long  ago  was  this  motto  made  for  us ; 
But  I  would  improve  it,  and  have  it  remain  thus 
"Nisi  tecum  non  numero  horas." 
****** 

Time  has  a  Golden  Touch  and  with  it  turns 
To  fairer  semblance  all  he  takes  away, 

Yet  when  it  once  is  stored  within  his  urns, 
No  power  can  bring  it  back  from  yesterday. 

Even  holiest  Helicon, 
Lofty  to  look  upon, 

Is  made,  like  most  mountains, 
Of  sandstone  and  silicon. 


108 


VERSES 
Prefatory   to  "Sigurd,"  by   William  Morris 


NOW  hear  of  the  Sorrow  of  Odin,  and  deeds  that 
were  done  of  old, 
The  days  of  the  golden  Sigurd,  and  the  curse  of  the 

ancient  gold ; 
And  learn  of  fair  lives  wasted,  huge  woes,  and  bitter 

shame, 

Of  evil  begetting  evil,  and  vengeance  wrought  in  vain ; 
The  quenching  and  bane  of  the  God-kin,  and  love  that 

can  no  more  be  said 
Than    the    words    Allfather    whispered    in    the    ear    of 

Baldur  dead. 
It  tears  the  heart  within  us  such  exceeding  griefs  to 

hear, 
The  net  by  the  Norns  strong-fashioned,  and  the  coming 

of  Twilight  near; 
Yet  never  in  human  language  shall  a  mightier  tale  be 

told 
Till  Fenrir's  bond  be  broken,  and  his  chain  no  longer 

hold. 


TO  ROBERT  BUCHANAN 


B 


iY  the  western  ocean, 

Restless  in  its  motion, 
Often  do  I  hearken  with  thy  music  in  my  ear; 
From  far  away  in  Britain 
The  words  that  thou  hast  written 
Follow  me  to  where  I  am  and  linger  by  me  here. 
Now  thy  day  is  over ; 
Thou  dost  never  waken, 
And  I  may  never  see  thy  face  or  by  thy  hand  be  taken. 

The   faith  that  never   falters, 

The  love  that  never  alters, 
Both  were  given  thee  at  first,  and  kept  until  the  last; 

Noble  is  the  story; 

Great  should  be  the  glory, 

For  bravely  hast  thou  done  thy  part,  and  given  all  thou 
hast. 

Though  the  world  begrudged 

Recognition  due  thee, 

Fame  shall  grow  upon  thy  dust  and  honor  come  unto 
thee. 


no 


Can  ever  life  be  wasted, 

The  cup  be  only  tasted? 

.\nd  can  it  be  that  all  thy  years  of  song  were  spent  in 
vain  ? 

Are  we  but  deceiving 

Hearts  forever  grieving, 
And  is  the  certainty  of  Hope  but  sophistry  of  pain? 

Rather  let  me   fancy 

Thou  art  past  the  portals, 

And  seeking  him,  who  went  before,  among  the  bright 
immortals. 

Oflcn  to  thec  turning, 
Patience  from  thee  learning, 
I   who  wait  while   thou   art  gone   find  comfort  in   thy 

name ; 

Surely   rest   is  given 
To  those  who  long  have  striven, 
And   gods    there    are    who    will    not    let    thy    faith    be 

brought  to  shame. 
Surely  thou  hast  earned 
All   that   poets   long    for, 

The   nameless   glory   singers   seek,    the   gift   they   give 
their  song  for? 

1906. 


in 


VERSES 
(Sec  ''The  Last  Christians"  by  Robert  Buchanan) 


STORM   in   the   night,   Buchanan; 
A  desolate  world  forsaken, 
And  the  dripping  eaves  of  thy  dwelling 
By  the  crying  winds  are  shaken. 

Long   is  the   night,   Buchanan ; 

And  the  lamp  of  thy  faith  lies  broken, 
For  thy  voice  seems  lost  in  the  tempest, 

And  the  dark  sends  back  no  token. 

Woe  unto  thee,  Buchanan; 

And  woe  to  thy  generation 
For  the  withered  flowers  of  the  Promise, 

The  darkness  and  desolation! 


112 


Yet  strengthen  thy  heart,  Buchanan; 

Though  the  world  be  worn  with  weeping, 
A  blessing  to  us  in  our  blindness 

Is  the  vigil  that  thou  art  keeping. 

For  strong  is  thy  voice,  Buchanan; 

At  times  in  our  ears  it  is  ringing, 
And  the  sorrow  of  loving  and  leaving 

Is  soothed  by  the  sound  of  thy  singing. 

For  we  know  thou  art  steadfast,  Buchanan, 
Still  waiting  and  dreaming  and  yearning; 

That  thine  eyes  are  still  watching  the  heavens 
And  the  fire  of  thy  spirit  is  burning. 

So  peace  be  unto  thee,  Buchanan; 

And  at  least  let  this  comfort  be  thine, 
That  to  us  who  have  listened  and  loved  thee 

Thou  thyself  art  the  token  and  sign! 

1906. 


APOTHEOSIS  OF  THE  FOOTBALL 


OH,  the  merry  Stanford  football, 
Scarlet  with  the  blood  of  Berkeley! 
Favor  me,  O  Muses,  while  I 
Sing  this  most  inspiring  subject! 

Once  you  were  an  humble  parchment 
Filled  with  sausage-meat  or  bacon, 
Little  guessing,   little   dreaming 
Of  the  honor  that  awaited; 
And  while  you  were  thus  adorning 
Piebald  back  of  pig  or  puppy, 
You  were  doubtless  kicked  and  cursed 
By  the  scornful  mouths  of  mortals ; 
For  unlike  the  hide  of  Apis 
There  was  naught  in  your  appearance 
That  could  warn  them,  or  could  tell  them 
You  were  not  of  common  race. 


114 


Strange  indeed  and  unexpected 
Are  the  lots  the  gods  bestow  on 
Men  and  dogs  and  pigs  and  women, 
And  the  destinies  they  find! 
Strange  indeed  but  sure  and  certain 
Are  the  dread  decrees  of  Fate. 
And  for  you  it  was  determined 
That  you  should  become  immortal 
That  you  should  become  a  planet, 
Shining  like  the  moon  at  midnight 
High  above  the  proud  and  haughty — 
Foreordained  a  hide  most  holy. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  you  were 
Chosen  to  be  made  a  football; 
You  took  on  a  shape  most  graceful 
While  they  filled  your  cheeks  with  Wind 
You  became  the  flattered  sphereoid 
Used  upon  the  Stanford  Oval. 


Not  a  mortal  dared  to  mock  you 
When  he  saw  you  shooting  skyward 
As  an  eagle  cleaves  the  air, 
Or  beheld  you  falling  downward 
Hit  the  ground  with  thump  tremendous. 
Each  man  knew  that  when  he  saw  you 
Hugged  so  tightly  by  the  players 
He  would  straight  be  torn  to  pieces 
If  his  impious  lips  derided, 
If  he  mocked  the  God  of  Stanford. 

Then  upon  the  day  of  battle, 
When  the  clans  were  all  assembled, 
When  the  Stanford  horns  were  tootimj 
And  the  Berkeley  ribbons  blew, 
How  the  men  were  filled  with  fury 
When  you  came  upon  the  rield ! 
How  the  fighters  longed  for  action, 
Seeing  red  in  earth  and  heaven ! 

Greatly  on  that  day  immortal 
Did  you  justify  your  redness; 
How  you  thinned  the  ranks  of  Berkeley, 
Crushed  the  outcast  race  of  Berkeley, 
Smote  the  foes  of  Gods  and  men! 


116 


Then  your  glory  was  completed, 
And  you  were  become  more  sacred 
Even  than  you  were  before. 
You  were  raised  aloft  and  lifted, 
Carried   far  in   fair  procession, 
Finally  placed  within  the  temple, 
There  to  feed  on  human  worship, 
Openly  proclaimed  divine. 
Last  you  grew  to  girth  enormous 
And  are  now  become  a  planet 
Shedding  light  eclipsed  never 
On  the  faces  of  the  faithful. 

All  mankind  is  now  your  servant ; 
Nations  bow  before  your  altars, 
And  the  priests  who  tend  your  worship 
Are  the  proudest  of  the  proud. 
Much  I  fear  your  power  and  glory, 
And  am  fain  to  have  your  favor, 
I  who  sing  in  pious  numbers 
Of  your  apotheosis. 
Grant  me  then,  O  orb  most  mighty ! 

By  the  Hog  from  which  you  came, 
That  I  ne'er  may  lose  my  senses, 

Or  neglect  to  praise  the  Game! 

Stanford  University,  1905. 


117 


COMMENTARY 

On  "Fine  Weather  on  the  Digentia,"  by  Robert  Buchanan 


POOR  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus  is  dead  now, 
Who   believed    in    the    doctrines    of    Epicurus, 
And  his  scandalous  verses  no  longer  are  read  now, 

For  his  easy  opinions  have  ceased  to  allure  us. 
He  firmly  maintained  in  a  long  declamation 
That  the  "greatest  good"  lies  in  mastication 
(A  creed  that's  well  suited,  it  must  be  confessed,  to 
A  very  large  part  of  the  men  it's  addressed  to), 
And  he  freely  admitted  a  predilection 
For  the  drinking  of  grape-juice  without  restriction. 
More  indolent-natured  than  old  Omar  Khayam, 
He  worried  but  little  concerning  "who  I  am", 
But  studied  his  feelings ;  to  ever  reform  him 
Was  hopeless,   and  Omar  would  certainly  scorn  him. 

Anacreon  was  more  of  Flaccus'  feather, 

Though  his   (wine)   skin  was  not  of  Roman  leather; 

(There's  a  difference   due,  as  all  admit   who  know 

man, 

To  a  natural  difference  'twixt  the  Greek  and  Roman)  : 
118 


Yft  not  one  of  the  three  but  was  mighty  at  drinking, 
And  all  spent  their  lives  in  describing  their  thirst; 

The  state  of  their  souls  was  most  shocking  I'm  thinking, 
And  I  really  can't  tell  you  which  one  was  the  worst. 

However  that  may  be,  pray  do  not  forget  this : 
They  lived  mid  the  faults  and  the  sins  that  beset  this 
World  ere  the  time  when  Christianity  gave  it 
Self-respect,  sending  Hell  and  the  Devil  to  save  it. 
Oh,  let  us  give  thanks  for  the  times  that  we  live  in, 
Xow  that  Virtue  to  Vice  is  no  more  known  to  give  in ! 
Though  by  the  profane  I  shall  scarcely  be  credited, 
I  svvcar  that  Koratius  would  now  be  unedited, 
Were  it  not  for  the   fact  that  just  one  man  was  bold 

enough 

(Perhaps  in  despair  [hat  his  works  had  not  sold  enough, 
Although  to  know  better  he  surely  was  old  enough) 
To    depict    good    Horatius    in    terms    not    quite    cold 

enough ; 

Or,  speaking  more  strictly,  get  Flaccus  to  muse  on  it, 
And  ihen  to  translate  from  the  Latin  his  views  on  it. 
Thus,  whether  or  no  the  good  public  would  look  at  it, 
Mr.  ROBERT  BUCHANAN  at  once  wrote  a  book  at  it, 
Which    demonstrates    well    that    few    poets    have    wit 

enough 
To  know  when  for  the  good  of  their  name  they  have 

writ  enough, 

For  I  hav'n't  a  doubt  but  that  this  was  the  one  reason 
He  was  hated  by  critics  as  though  he  had  done  treason. 


But  if  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus  were  living  here 

He  wouldn't  have  nearly  so  easy  a  time  of  it; 
(I  assure  you  it's  nothing  but  truth  I  am  giving  here, 
Although  I  have  trouble  in  making  a  rhyme  of  it). 
He'd  put  milk  in  his  bowl,  and  would  ne'er  dip  a  chin 

in  it 

Until  he  were  sure  there  was  no  trace  of  sin  in  it; 
He  would  know  that  if,   living  yet,  grace  had  not  lit 

on  him. 
And  his  judge  after  death  would  be  certain  to  sit  on 

him. 

And  he's  spend  all  his  life  in  anticipation 
Of  that  dreaded  post  mortem  examination, 
On   which   would   depend  his   eternal   salvation. 
He  would  quickly  accustom  himself  to  sobriety, 
And  his  conduct  be  always  the  pink  of  propriety, 
Transformed  to  a  shining  example  of  piety. 

So  let  us  be  glad  that  we  live  in  the  present  times, 
When   all    wicked   men    like    Horatius    are    fled    and 

gone ; 
For  although   we   no   longer   indulge   in    such   pleasant 

times, 

Yet  we  hope  to  make  up  for  it  all  when  we're  dead 
and   gone ! 

1905. 


120 


WATCHER  OF  SUNSETS 


WATCHER  of  lonely   sunsets  o'er  the  sea, 
Star-worshipper,  I  had  when  I  was  young 

A  poet's  heart,  but  not  a  poet's  tongue. 
And  loved  old  gods  that  long  had  ceased  to  be. 
For  Greece  was  my  heart's  home.     The 

Of   tall,   pure   Doric   columns   soothed  my   eyes; 

T  breathed   the   azure  of   Hellenic   skies, 
And  her  immortal  life  was  strong  in  me. 
But  as  I  grew,  the  heavy  Sense  of  Things 
Spread  over  me  the  shadow  of  its  wings, 
And  soon  I  saw  that  Death  was  sure  and   strong, 
That  human  life  is  strange  and  full  of  wrong, 
And  then  I  dared  not  hope  to  find  repose, 
But  sought  the  living  source  of  human  woes. 


121 


TO  CELIA  THAXTER 


GENTLE  dreamer,  lone  and  lowliest 
Of  those  who  sing,  how  thou  dost  love  the  sea 

And  those  bleak  isles  that  were  a  home  to  thee ! 
Thou  art  apart  from  all.  Would  I  possessed 
Some  little  share  in  thy  abundant  rest! 

Would  I  might  know  thy  warm  and  humble  heart! 

Would  that  I  were  as  gentle  as  thou  art! 
There  on  those  barren  isles  thy  hand  caressed 
Each  drooping  flower,  and  pure  imaginings 

Filled  thee  with  love  of  beauty,  thoughtful  mood, 
A  quiet  joy  in  small  and  simple  things, 

Tinged  with  the  sadness  born  of  solitude. 
Sweet   Celia,   thou   art  haunted   Nature's   child, 
Moved  by  her  subtle  grace  and   sorrow  mild. 


122 


IN   SICKNESS 


IF  I  depart,  it  is  not  in  disgust, 
Nor  hating  life,  which  seems  to  me  most   fair; 
But  all  my  limbs   drag  heavy  in  the  dust, 

My  body's  weight  is  more  than  I  can  bear, 
And,  though  the  blade  is  ever  free  from  rust, 

I  find  the  sheath  already  thin  with  wear. 
I   chose  the  best,   and  knew  that  it  was  good, 

And   found  about  me  more  than  others  find; 
I  had  small  time  to  win  the  things  I  would, 

And  little  was  my  lore  of  any  kind; 
That  little,  even,  I  could  ne'er  express. 

And  now  what  strength  I  had  has  left  my  hand. 
I  sought  Infinity,  yet  none  the  less, 

Weary  and  spent,   I  sink  upon  the  sand. 

Oct.  1906. 


123 


THE  SILENT  TEARS 


E   silent  tears  that   iminvoked  arise, 

•*•       Soft  messengers  of  heart   divinely  human, 

Do  but  declare  that  ihou  art  all  a  woman— 

And  yet  a  child  in  beautiful   disguise. 

Lovely  and  loving  one,  unclose  thine  eyes- 
Truth's  lighted  temples,  where  sweet  vows  are  made- 
Yet  by  their  glances  thou  shalt  be  betrayed 

To  conquering  arms,  until  thou  dost  devise 

A  ransoming  caress  to  break  the  chain, 

And  hardly  purchase  thy  release  again. 

O  fair  in  face,  with  fairer,  rarer  heart, 
Wherein  the  fires  of  rose  and  lily  blend, 

May  only  happiness  be  where  thou  art, 
Nor  any  evil  on  thy  head  descend. 


124 


SPEAK! 


SPEAK !     Become  audible,  that  I  may  hear 
The  sweetness  of  thy  presence,  and  rejoice! 
Cleave  the  dividing  silence  and  appear! 

Speak !     Let  the  air  be   fruitful  with  thy  voice ! 
Flow  forth  in  potency  of  sound — draw  near 

And  touch  my  sense  with  living  tone  and  word ! 

Speak !     Let  thy  heart  grow   vocal   and  be   heard ! 
Pour  like  a  flood  of  music  in  my  ear! 
I  wait  and  listen  for  the  sound  of  thee; 

Name  me  my  name  in  thy  beloved  speech; 
Send  out  thy  vibrant  voice  to  gladden  me; 

Greet  me  with  gracious  words,   I  do  beseech, 
And  let  the  parting  of  thy  lips  set  free 

The  dumbly  prisoned  thought  I  cannot  reach. 


MORNING 


r  I  ^HE  mystic  rites  and  ceremonies  rare 
•*•      That  mark  the  daybreak  even  now  transpire 

Beyond  the  hills  the  darkness  turns  to  fire, 
And  soon  the  breath  of  Dawn  blows  faintly  there 
To  paint  the  eastern  clouds.    Then  in  his  lair 

Apollo  stirs  and  wakes,  and  lifting  up 

His  blinding  orb  from  out  its  golden  cup, 
Ht  guides  it  slowly  onward  through  the  air. 
So  dawn  by  dawn  the  immortal  charioteer, 

Urging  his  car  in  upward-speeding  flight, 
Bursts  through  the  clouds  and  shines  upon  us  here, 

Driving  afar  the  devastated  Night; 
And  day  by  day  the  liquid  skies  unfold 
Before  his  lyre  and  burning  brows  of  gold. 

Yosemite,  1909. 


126 


EVENING 


r  i  ^HE  ceremonial  Hours  at  last  prepare 
•*•      Their  evening  sacrifice,  and  burn  away 

The  rich,  red  heart  of  the  expiring  Day, 
While  from  his  breath  dissolving  in  the  air 
The  clouds  take  fire.  And  then  within  his  lair 

Apollo  sinks  to  rest,  and  laying  down 

His  golden  rays  and  thousand-pointed  crown, 
He  hides  from  mortal  sight  his  glowing  hair. 
So  ends  the  ardor  of  the  Day;  but  soon 
There  rises  up  the  pale  and  perfect  Moon, 
Walking  the  waves  of  melancholy  Night, 

And  looking  downward  as  she  passes  by, 
Trailing  upon  the  sea  her  robes  of  white, 

Rolling  her  hoop  of  silver  in  the  sky. 


127 


THE  DAY'S  EXHAUSTION 


SICK   with    the    day's    exhaustion,    I    would   creep 
Into  the  soft  embrasure  of  the  dark. 
I  would  extinguish  each  familiar  mark, 
And  let  the  rising  tidal  waters  sweep, 
Engulfing  and  oblivious  and  deep, 

O'er  the  subsiding  land,  till  in  the  surge 
This    time-worn    continent    of    thought    submerge, 
And  all  be  sunken  in  the  waves  of  sleep. 
Unfathomable  Sleep,  thou  gift  supreme, 
Encircle  me  with  thine  enclosing  arms! 

Hide  the  implacable  and  weary  Day 
Beneath  those  sable  vesture-folds  of  dream, 
And  draw  me  down  with  drowsy-muttered  charms, 
Soft-breathed   words,   that   whisper   me   away! 


128 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


15Jan54VL 
EB4     1954  LU 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


YB   I  1 803 


894082 


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